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I clutch the fir tree, infusing whatever strength I can, then rise. Minutes later, I manifest back to The Herd of Deer and head straight for the glade with its ancient oak.

The sound of her voice dissolves the dread gnawing through my bones. Pushing through the thicket, I lean against an oak, the corner of my mouth ticking up.

Juniper sits on a stump with a notebook open on her lap and those sexy lenses topping her nose. Combine that with the studious blouse, cinched vest, ankle-length skirt, and a tendency to fire a weapon, and I’ve found me an academic who’s as intelligent as she is deadly.

A gaggle of Fae striplings squat on the grass, encircling her as she reads a story about a water dragon who swims through raging oceans. Pint-sized nymphs, dryads, and leprechauns listen avidly, their legs crossed and their eyes wide. Several brownies observe from their perch in the branches. And to my surprise, a runty centaur sits among the group, the equine’s short limbs curled to the side.

It’s a filly with a chartreuse tail. I recognize this one, having played with her once during Juniper’s game.

Although these are the striplings of allied Faeries, does Cypress know one of his own is here? His kin are usually more sequestered than this.

“And the dragon said—”Juniper pauses for effect,“‘—I shall protect what I don’t yet know, for therein lives my strongest magic.’ With that, she dove into the depths and saved the drowning mortal.”

The little Faeries gasp. They explode with questions as Juniper closes the notebook.

She places a finger to her lips, silencing them. “Remember what I said the last time?”

“Wait for your turn, and the answer will be greater,” a lanky faun with horn stumps recites.

I raise my eyebrows. Impressive, considering Faeries aren’t the disciplined types.

My eyes click to the silhouettes skulking between the trees, the figures auditing Juniper’s performance without showing themselves. They always do this. It had taken Juniper’s tenacity and my roguish, ruling grin to sway our allies into letting her read to their wards.

Although woodland Faeries don’t have their own offspring, elders volunteer to guide the runts until they come of age, the way guardians of nature would. And while these subjects may still follow me, they don’t entirely trust Juniper or her sisters. It’s not a transformation that’ll happen overnight. Which is why they stay on the sidelines, making sure the striplings aren’t being brainwashed.

Reclusive behavior is in a Solitary’s blood, apart from the sacrificial games and training for this battle. But I’ve also got a feeling Juniper’s scheduled readings have the elders hooked. Why else would they be still as stones whenever she narrates from the pages? My ears and eyes sure as shit can tell the difference between restlessness and idleness.

Pride loosens the kinks in my muscles.

Juniper’s attention roams, then lands on me. Behind the spectacles, her eyes spark like embers. It’s a cheerful look that jumpstarts a fresh bout of lust.

When she gains her feet, the runts scatter to their reclusive guardians, though not before casting me awed glances. I screw up my eyes and features, making them guffaw as they leave.

Juniper busies herself, removing her spectacles and polishing them, then packing them into a hardwood case. The young centaur is the last to quit the area. She rises to her hooves and lingers, gazing at Juniper with fascinated curiosity before noticing me.

The filly’s eyes widen with guilt. She sighs and canters in my direction.

“My, my, my,” I remark while crossing my arms.

“Don’t tell,” she begs, her head cranking up to mine.

“I take it Cypress didn’t give permission?”

“He likes your mate as much as he likes you, but he doesn’t want me traveling here alone. I was supposed to ask first and secure an escort.” The filly turns up her chin, just like someone else I know. “But I don’t need a fucking filly-sitter.”

“The mouth on you,” I mock-lecture.

“I’m eight-hundred,” she defends, her rear hooves kicking up dirt and her tailing swatting about. “I can manifest this far on my own, and I met your mate long before these other saplings did, back when she was hiding in The Heart of Centaurs. She was nice and interesting and mortal, and I just…now I want to know more.

“She tells stories about Faeries and humans, and I like them. I want to learn about her people. Are you going to tell?”

“Meh.” I shrug. “Cypress is my friend, not my conscience.” I bend forward and tap her nose. “It’s our secret, but next time? Ask. Make him feel important. He likes that.”

Her posture straightens, confidence bolstered. “It’s a deal, sire.”

“Ah, ah, ah. A vow, not a deal.”

She grins cheekily and springs into a gallop. Her small form vanishes before she reaches the trees.